


Downtime

by applecameron



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 09:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16059968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron





	Downtime

When Eames finds him in the prefab building at one edge of the maze, populated by hay bales and targets and who knows what, Arthur is slumped in a tatty desk chair looking at a laptop. His hair is freshly cut, very short, and he's wearing jeans and a tee shirt that both fit him well. There's some serious weaponry arrayed neatly around the space. Eames can smell gun oil, other cleansers, the sharp tang of metal. 

“Well, hullo, darling.” Eames leans in the doorway. “Don't you look barely legal.” 

Arthur turning in his chair is a study in fleeting, suppressed, emotions. There's the usual annoyance that Eames managed to uncover something about him, followed by appreciation that he did, the usual mishmash of others - sexual attraction, pride, high on the list. He stops the chair with his toes, blatantly manspreading, inviting. “What are you doing, here, Eames.” His voice sounds like it always does, like he's wearing a 3-piece suit and has God at his back. 

“Always wondered how you spend your downtime, is all.” 

“I see,” Arthur murmurs, taking his hands away from where they frame his crotch, and turning back to the laptop. “Sounds like you're secretly not above a little celebrity stalking, Mr. Eames.” 

“Now, pet,” Eames chides, tucking in behind him and leaning over, groping him smoothly and looking at the laptop screen simultaneously. “I just had to know for sure. You spend your vacations training actors to shoot in this wee facility?” 

Arthur lifts his hips to meet Eames' hand, trying to speed up their rhythm. “Not just here. I offer a highly customized training regimen. I go on-set when needed, even.” 

Eames strokes and strokes, and finally kisses Arthur as lewdly as he possibly can. 

In the distance, the sound of a motorcycle makes its presence known. 

“That's probably him,” Arthur says, with a hand over Eames' hand, encouraging. “He loves that bike.” 

Eames has every intention of getting them both off, but the journey is more than half the fun, so he slows and lets Arthur squirm, and Arthur lets him. It's their game. 

“I had a huge crush on him, you know.” Arthur's practically whispering in his ear. Eames keeps stroking, pretending now to read the laptop screen, the famous movie-star name written on it. 

“I bet you did, darling. He cuts quite the figure, no matter the year.” Eames gives in to the urge to nibble about Arthur's ears, his neck, and Arthur arches into it, hands reaching to hold him, hold them together. “Did you give him tips on those suits in that new movie series, the assassin one with the hotel?” 

“He didn't need any.” Arthur huffs, then breaks, “ _Eames_.” 

“How close is he on that bike?” 

“Close.” 

“How close are you?” 

“Jesus, Eames -” 

Eames unzips him, and puts his mouth where Arthur wants it, just in time. 

Arthur pants, finally coming down, then laughs, “the gate's still locked, anyway.” 

Eames grins, and thumbs his own flies open. 


End file.
